


Strange Bedfellows

by prairiecrow



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Reluctant Bedfellows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles O'Brien is not alone, and he's not sure how he feels about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Bedfellows

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Set post-"Hippocratic Oath". 2) I might continue this if folks are interested. :)

He comes back from his trip to the head in the wee uncharted hours of the morning to find them both fast asleep (maybe, he sure as hell wouldn't put it past the Cardassian to lie about  _that_  the way he lies about everything else): Julian a sprawl of long limbs mostly resting against Garak, who's arranged himself in a neat sideways line with a slight kink at the knees, one thick arm under Julian's waist and the other curved over his back, the fingers near the nape of that slim brown neck curved with a slight tension. The sheet that started out around their shoulders when they all finally settled down to sleep has slipped down to their flanks and Miles can see far more scales than he's comfortable with — but it is what it is, and he chose to let them into his quarters in the first place, didn't he?  
  
He pauses about a metre from the bed to watch them for a while, to study the way Julian's sweet face is mostly hidden against that broad ridged shoulder, his hair a careless tousle of silky-rough blackness in the bedroom's shadows. _Funny how things work out sometimes,_  he thinks with scarcely a trace of wryness:  _Three and a half years ago you couldn't have made me give him the time of day, and now…_  Well, now he knows better. Now he knows the sharp mind, and the ready wit, and the brave, compassionate, earnest heart that beats in that brown breast; now he knows how soft and strong those full lips are, and how skilled those slender hands are in ways that have nothing to do with healing wounds — although they've done that, of course, they've eased the ache of Keiko's absence and replaced cold emptiness with comforting warmth on many a night, in the small ways Miles will allow.  
  
It's more than mere consolation, though. Miles has tried to figure out when he fell in love but come up with no sure answer, except the memory of the moment when he realized it: a conversation in a shuttlecraft two months ago now, followed by an encounter with the Jem'hadar that had only set the truth of the matter firmly in his mind.  
  
He hadn't struggled with it long, really: only a few days after they got back to the station, and then Julian had made the first gentle move. Miles had accepted only kisses and affectionate embraces — that much he could bear to do, but anything more would have felt too much like betrayal of Keiko's trust to be borne. Often they ended up just cuddling on Julian's couch, and he was a bit ashamed to remember how often and how patiently Julian had listened while he poured out his troubles and his loneliness: a good friend, and a willing one who'd made it clear that he was ready to do more, as much as Miles wanted of him. But Miles had dared take no more than that, and now…  
  
… now Julian is naked in his bed, along with a Cardassian spy, and the lad's been made love to by both of them and Miles is still trying to figure out how he should feel about that. Should he have turned them away when they showed up at his door, Julian quietly but desperately distraught, Garak cold-eyed and decisive:  _He needs us both, Chief._  — or should he have kicked them both out when it became clear that Garak was the "someone else" Julian had been up front about having as a lover, but who Miles hadn't wanted to know the name of? Should he have left it up to Garak to deal with the aftermath of the telepathic contact with the Erulian senator that had inflicted such traumatic memories on the man they were both involved with? He  _should_  have, maybe, but the depth of the anguish in Julian's dark eyes, the wordless plea for help even though he was whispering that he was fine, really, everything was all right, had left Miles with no real choice but to take him in, and Garak had refused to take any hints about leaving.   
  
Julian tenses and inhales sharply in his sleep; Garak murmurs something in his ear and he quiets, his arm tightening around the grey-scaled waist as he shifts closer yet. The Cardie's eyes open and find Miles's instantly, regarding him levelly without speaking. Miles is suddenly, acutely aware of being completely naked and vulnerable under that reptilian gaze, but he resists the urge to cover himself and returns the stare. You had to be careful with Cardassians: the slightest display of weakness and they'd go for the throat, and Garak is even more of a snake than your average member of the species. Gazing into those intense pale eyes, he wonders — again — just what the hell a man like Julian Bashir sees in this sleeveen, a man who'd just as soon kill you as look at you. But he clearly  _does_  see something there — passionately, eagerly and yearningly, if this evening's events are any indication — and that, too, is what it is.   
  
 _But he sees something in me, too._  That thought, along with the memories it carries of Julian's kisses and embraces and soft hungry whimpers beneath him, both comforts and strengthens Miles's resolve. He goes to the bed and slips into it, laying a careful hand on Julian's shoulder above the place where Garak's own hand rests. "Julian?" he whispers.  
  
"Mrm." A sleepy grumble and a charming little frown.  
  
"Are you okay? D'you need anything?"   
  
"Mrm-mm." Negation, but he turns a little, eyes still closed, and unwinds his arm from around Garak's waist to reach back, his hand strangely vulnerable in its drowsy groping. Miles takes the hint, moving in behind him to press himself against Julian's back and thighs, creating a comforting enclosure of bodies that evidently is exactly what Julian wants, because he sighs happily and his hand comes to rest on Miles's thigh, briefly rubbing the lightly furred skin, then settling.  
  
Garak, now far too close for comfort, is still looking at Miles with the quality both of warning — no surprise there, Cardies are territorial bastards — and of humor, as if he finds his host amusing in some enigmatic way. Miles meets his gaze flatly, thinks about asking him just what the hell's so funny, then decides that an argument is the last thing Julian needs right now: he seems much calmer, but is still probably in need of gentle handling. So instead he closes his eyes and settles his head on the pillow, pushing away the memories of the way Julian's body moved against Garak's in the heat of passion, and of the greedy hisses the Cardassian had uttered with every thrust. It's harder to ignore the way his forearm is resting against that cool grey belly, but he can live with it for the moment.  
  
For Julian's sake, he suspects he could live with just about anything. The perfume of his friend's hair is closer and stronger than the musk rising from Garak's skin, and, in time, it eases Miles back to sleep in spite of the proximity of the enemy and all the instincts that warn him, with their clear and ancient voices, that sharp teeth are within easy striking distance of his throat.   
  
THE END


End file.
